The Love We Keep
by Alex Damien
Summary: Spain is terribly sick and Romano doesn't know how to help him. Spamano with mentions of Gerita and Holytalia.


Spain wasn't answering his phone, and Romano cursed him under his breath at work. The dumbass had probably fallen asleep and left his phone somewhere.

By nightfall, Romano lost his patience and made his way to Spain's house with a scathing speech burning at the tip of his tongue. How dare he not answer his calls or texts? Romano had even asked him what he wanted him to bring for dinner. The bastard should be grateful!

Romano kicked the door open.

"Where the hell are you bastard?! He yelled.

On the couch in front of the Christmas tree, a pile of something moved. Romano frowned and approached it.

"S-Spain…?" he whispered, suddenly terrified at what might be hiding underneath the pile of what seemed to be clothes.

The top of the pile shook, and a couple scarves fell off, revealing a disheveled head of brown hair.

"Roma?" came the dizzy voice from under the clothes. Spain looked up at Romano with red eyes.

"W-what are you doing there?" asked Romano, too confused to be angry anymore.

"I was cold. I…I'm very cold," said Spain.

Romano touched his forehead. He was burning.

"Shit, no. I think you have a fever," said Romano, pulling off the clothes and blankets.

"Nah, I'm just…cold…," said Spain, leaning back down on the couch.

"What are you doing?! Stop that and get up," cried Romano, but Spain didn't respond. "Hey, come on, you have to go see a doctor or something."

Spain was completely out of it, and Romano felt his heart sinking.

He pulled Spain up and tried to carry him, but he was unbelievably heavy and Romano had to let him back down on the couch again.

"Shit, shit…," muttered Romano, pacing in front of the couch.

He had no idea what to do. He could maybe call Veneziano, but his brother wouldn't have any idea what to do either, and even between the two of them it would be hard to carry Spain to the car. What if they hurt him while trying to move him? No, he needed someone who could be strong but gentle.

From Veneziano, his mind made the leap to Germany, who could reasonably be able to carry Spain. He was the strongest person Romano knew, that was for sure. But the very idea of asking him for a favor made Romano's stomach turn. He would never be able to sneer at him after this.

He looked back at Spain's pale face and noticed that his cheeks and the tip of his nose were red, and his breathing was shallow. A strangled cry rose in Romano's throat and he started dialig Germany's number.

"Hello?" came Germany's deep voice.

"G-Germany I need your help," said Romano, sitting by Spain's side and caressing some stray curls away from his closed eyes. "Come to Spain's house now."

"Romano? What's the matter?"

"Did I fucking stutter? I need your help!"

"…Umm, alright, but you did."

"What?!"

"Stutter. You did stutter."

Romano took a deep breath. "…Look now potato bastard. If you're not here as fast as your immortal nation powers allow you I. Will. End. You."

The doorbell rang, and Romano ran to open the door. Germany stood there wearing a pink apron that said "Kiss the Cook" with a drawing of a happy puppy underneath, and holding his phone with one hand and a wooden spoon with the other.

"I'm here," he said.

"Finally!" yelled Romano. "Come here. Something's wrong with Spain. I-I don't know what to do. I found him like this. I think he has a fever. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he's too heavy for me.

Germany nodded through Romano's ramble and let the spoon and phone on the living room table.

"And why didn't you transport him with…err…magic," he said, looking back at the door as if he could barely believe he had actually just appeared there in a second. Which he had.

"Are you serious? You can't move another nation like that. They have to do it on their own."

Germany pursed his lips and nodded. "I see," he said, and pulled Spain up. "He's heavy!"

Spain's head lolled back, and Romano screeched.

"Be careful! You'll hurt him!"

"Romano, he's really heavy," said Germany, his face red from the effort of carrying the unconscious Spain.

"You're supposed to be super strong, stop whining."

There was a cracking sound, and Romano looked down to see the wooden floor cracking under Germany's feet.

"Stop!" cried Romano. "Let him back on the couch!"

Germany let him down and sighed in relief.

"I wouldn't have ever thought he was so heavy," he said, straightening up.

"No. This…this isn't normal…," said Romano, looking at the cracked floor. "This can't be just any fever. We need someone who knows more about us. Someone older."

Germany shook his head. "We can figure that out later. We need to stop his fever first," he said.

Romano was barely listening. He had already dialed France's phone, who answered with a sleepy mumble.

"France, there's something wrong with Spain. He's sick and can't move. C-come to his house, please," he said, his voice breaking.

He hung up before France could say anything, and looked away from Germany so he wouldn't see the way his eyes started filling with tears.

Was this how Spain had felt back when Romano was a child? When he had gotten tarantela hundreds of years ago and Romano would drive himself into a panicked state, screaming for hours in the middle of the night? Was this the same despair he felt back then?

A strong hand fell on Romano's shoulder, making him jump.

"D-don't do that! Fucking potato bastard!" cried Romano.

"He'll be fine," said Germany with complete seriousness all over his face.

"What would you know?" said Romano, stepping away from him. "You have no idea how we work. Even less than me. Fuck, I have houses older than you."

"I may not know much about us but…I'm sure of this."

Romano scoffed at him, but Germany paid him no mind and kept talking.

"I know he will be alright. I'm sure. Because I think that if he knew this was something bad, he would have called you. He would have wanted to see you so much, you would have felt it."

Romano blinked, and an old memory came back to him. A memory made only of Veneziano's childish voice, full of a sadness so deep Romano felt it claw at him from every word. _"_ _I heard him call my name. I still hear him. Calling me from the darkness when I close my eyes."_

The door opened and France strolled into the living room, all frazzled hair and rumpled clothes seemingly thrown on in a hurry.

"Big brother is here! Fear no more!" he said. "Ahh, let's see. What has he done now?"

"He fell unconcious a while ago. He said he was very cold," said Romano.

France opened Spain's jacket and touched his forehead and neck. Romano remembered giving him that jacket a few years ago in a trip where Spain had complained about the cold and refused to go outside the hotel.

"Hmm. Did he say anything else before that? Anything at all?" asked France.

"No. I mean, I hadn't seen him in a few days. I think I yelled at him last Tuesday because…shit I don't even remember. I think he mixed the colors with the whites or whatever. Then he wasn't answering his phone and I came and found him like this."

France made some more thoughtful noises. Romano bit his lower lip. He had almost forgotten about the whole argument. It had been because Spain had washed Romano's white jacket with something red and the jacket had turned pink.

"I think I know what's going on," said France with a smile. He pulled Spain's shirt up and groped his chest.

"What are you doing?!" yelled Romano, pulling France away from Spain and throwing him to the other end of the room. Germany observed from the side, too shocked to move.

"Why the fuck do you think this is a good moment to grope him you fucking-" Romano stalked towards France and Germany snapped from his sock, rushing to hold him.

"Stop! Romano don't hurt him!" he said, holding his arms.

"Wait, wait, my dear," said France, struggling to his feet. "I know what the problem is."

He stood up and took Romano's hand. Germany hesitated before letting go of Romano and stepping back.

France guided Romano to the couch. "Touch him here, over his heart," he said.

Romano swallowed, feeling his cheeks burning, but did as he was told and touched Spain's chest. Romano gasped, taking back his hand.

"He's freezing!" he said.

"Not exactly. Now, let me guide you," said Frace, and helt Romano's wrist. Romano felt the cold skin, and then, in the blink of an eye his fingers sank into Spain's chest and he felt something cold and hard.

"Pull it out," ordered France.

Romano gritted his teeth and pulled the object out of Spain's chest. It looked like a clear, pale blue glass heart. Romano stared at it closely, and felt like he could hear something from the inside. Voices. His own voice.

 _Why are you always this fucking careless? I know you don't give a shit about your clothes, but I do! You know what? I don't even care! I'm leaving!_

Romano recognized the last things he had said before slamming the door a few days ago. The stupid fight over the laundry.

"The emotions we suppress are stored inside us like this," said France, pointing at the heart. "For us who have no real hearts, emotions must flow or be condensed. But sometimes if we don't take them out they can clog up inside of us. He should be fine now."

"This…he was upset? But I…I didn't think he would care…,"said Romano in a soft voice. His fingers freezing from holding the heart.

"Feelings are strange things," said France, caressing Romano's face. He wiped a stray tear with his thumb. "The smallest thing may set off unexpected emotions. Don't blame yourself, this is fairly common. Spain was just being-," France gasped, falling backwards on the couch.

Spain had woken up and had him on a choke hold.

"France, hi!" said Spain with a smile so sharp it could murder a man. "What are you doing here? I hope you haven't done anything inappropriate!"

"I didn't do anything! I swear!" yelled France, struggling to get free.

"Stop you two! You'll hurt yourself Spain," said Germany.

"Worse, he'll hurt me!" cried France.

Spain let go of him and pushed himself up. "Ugh, I can't remember anything. I think…You said I had a fever, Roma?"

Romano threw himself to Spain's arms. "I'm sorry!" he cried, burying his face against Spain's chest.

Spain looked at Germany and France for an explanation, and France mouthed a ' _Later'_ before putting his coat back on.

"Well, my job here is done," said France. "No need to thank me, although if you would like to send me a bottle of champagne that would be very nice of you," he winked at them before disappearing through the door.

Germany fidgeted and then picked up his spoon and phone from the table. "I…I should get going too," he said and walked to the door.

Romano let go of Spain. "You stay here," he told Spain, and walked after Germany. "Hey potato bastard. You…uhm, even though you weren't any help. Like, you didn't even do anything useful, but…I mean…Thank you. "

Germany smiled. "You're welcome. I think I learned a lot from this. I feel like I should thank you instead."

"Uh? What the hell for?"

Germany pulled something small from the pocket of his apron. He extended his hand to show Romano a bunch of small red hearts.

"They are smaller now. I was too embarrassed to ask anyone about them…," said Germany.

"Those…err…Who are they f- God, why am I even asking? Look, just don't talk to me about you two because I totally don't care, just-" said Romano and then bit his tongue. Because he wanted to order him to be strong and healthy and to not, for any reason, go and die just to leave Veneziano crying for nights on end; scared of the dark and afraid of having to live on through endless days without him. "Just don't do anything stupid, alright? Now go!"

He shooed Germany out and closed the door. When he went back to the living room he found Spain sitting at the couch and looking at the heart.

"I think I-," started Spain, but Romano grabbed the heart from his hands and threw it away.

"That doesn't matter. Now listen to me," he said, grabbing Spain's face and forcing him to look straight at him. "I love you. I've loved you for longer than I even knew what loving someone meant. And it's been so long that I sometimes forget how much I fucking love you and do stupid shit. So…please forgive me. And love me despite that. Please."

Spain embraced him and tried to say something, but found that he couldn't express the burning love he felt with words, so he kissed him instead.

Notes:

If you liked this fic, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. It would mean a lot to me.


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